Gathering The Pieces
by kittyge
Summary: Collection of Mai oneshots.
1. Cartoons

Notes: **A collection of various Mai centered stories at different times throughout her life. Each is a one-shot and may contain different relationship pairings. You might need to know a bit about her to understand some of the stories. **

Title: **Saturday Morning Cartoons**

Featuring: **Mai and her mother**

Disclaimer:

* * *

She lived for days like these.

Days where nothing mattered but her and the television.

Every Saturday, Mai would drag her six-year old self out of bed, tiptoe downstairs, plop herself on the couch and watch Saturday morning cartoons.

She would always end up on the floor with messy bed hair hanging in her face and her feet kicking freely in the air.

One particular morning, her mother had caught her and her antics.

"This is not acceptable behavior, lounging about like some commoner." Her mother shut off the television while sighing and walked out of the room.

Mai looked down at her pajamas and shrugged. What was the worst her mother could do? She turned the television back on.What did her mother care anyway?

Mai lived for days like these, where she did what wanted, and was noticed for it.


	2. The Willow Challenge

Title: **The Willow Challenge**

Featuring: **Mai/OC**

Age/Time:** Eight**

Disclaimer: **Don't own YGO**

Mai Valentine was not the most enthusiastic child, especially when it came to the outdoors. She was never pushed to run, swim or enjoy the sun. Instead she was always forced to study and 'act' like a young lady.

Honestly, she didn't know what that meant.

Mai did like the huge willow tree in her backyard. She would go sit underneath it for hours on end.

She'd lie on the grass, covered by dew in the early morning that messed up her hair, and stare up through the leaves into the sky.

Her parents hated the tree, claiming it lowered property values because of where the roots extended, so Mai spent as much time underneath the tree as possible.

She knew that one day her parents would rid themselves of this 'burden'.

She never understood, to her it was just a tree.

But she liked it.

And it had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Jake. Jake, being the neighbor boy who would climb over the fence and taunt her into competing against him in difficult eight-year-old tasks.

He would always appear early in the morning, with messy hair and scuffed knees. But Mai didn't mind.

She knew that he at least had something entertaining for her to do. If entertaining meant beating him at some challenge and crushing his manly pride, then Mai was fine with that.

This day though, he climbed over the fence, stared at Mai in her purple dress with the white bows and gave a sly smile.

"Bet you're too girly to climb this tree." he said as he spit.

She gave him a look of disgust.

"No I'm not." was her reply, along with a stomp of her foot. Her shoes laid underneath the tree, leaving her white stockings covered in dirt.

"Then climb it then." he thought he was clever.

"You first." she'd show him.

"No you!" he yelled, pointing at the branches.

"I have a dress on! You could look up it!" she said very matter-of-factly. Jake stood puzzled for a moment, and then an idea came to him.

"Let's race, go!'' he was off, running as fast as he could. Mai was faster. She made sure of it.

Looking at the trunk of the tree, there was a separation from where two huge branches grew.

She pushed him, he pushed her, and she stumbled backwards. She placed her foot on the separation (feeling the bark underneath her already stained stockings). She stepped on his foot, and he hit her hand.

Jake climbed, with Mai right behind him.

Eventually, after much grunting and pushing, she was even with him. She placed her hand above his head, touching a part of the bark he was to short to touch. A smile of victory crossed her face.

The boy wobbled, frowned and fell to the ground, clutching his arm. The yells he made signaled the family maid to come running out of the house, scowling at Mai, and dragging the boy back into the house by his ear.

Later that evening Mai was told Jake broke his arm, and was never allowed to see Mai again because she was such a bad influence.

Upon hearing that their daughter was a hooligan from the country club, Mai's parents disciplined her by sending her to her room.

The following morning, men were outside with some bug machine Mai didn't recognize, taking down the willow tree.

She frowned.

She never really liked the outdoors, but sometimes they were okay.


	3. Fireplace

In the home of her youth, within the second sitting room, was a fireplace.

Her family would gather on cold nights and burn logs in said fireplace. She would lie on the carpet, watching the flames as they consumed the wood until the fire died. Her parents would talk in hush tones behind her about business and politics and other advanced adult topics.

After all, she was only nine and could care less about what was going on in the world. Except that Marge from school had that brand new purple and black bicycle and she did not. That was important to her. Not politics and business and money and men who wore suits and carried ugly black suitcases that hung awkwardly in their arms.

Except none of that happened.

Her family never discussed such dreaded topics with her or near her. She was sure they did discuss them, as most adults did, but she never heard. No, her parents were never near her unless she required a lecture. And the second sitting room's fireplace was never used.

She was too young to carry firewood, and honestly she was not sure how to even start a fire. She could steal some matches from the cupboard, but she knew that that action would only lead to some type of consequence.

Instead she would lie on the beige carpet and stare at the empty fireplace, imaging a lively fire within it. Sometimes her gaze would turn to the top of the mantle where a painting of a family at the ocean hung.

A boy covered in sand was handing a shovel to a little girl while a man and a woman sat on a towel watching them. The tide was hardly in, but the ocean was blue and green and some beautiful shade of the two combined that Mai was completely unsure of.

She would imagine that the happy moment captured in the painting was her family. She would imagine that one day she'd have a family of her own, one that she could take to the beach to gaze upon the multicolored water with.

She knew someday she would reach that spot. She knew that she would have that peace. She imagined.


	4. Curiosity

**All we know is distance  
****We're close and then we run  
****Kiss away the difference  
****I know you hate this one  
**The Fray: Where The Story Ends

Age: 15

Mai/OC

She was curious.

She was aware, very aware, of the consequences of being curious. Once when she was ten she had snuck into her father's office and looked through his drawers. Her father was known as the great businessman. He was oh so good as discovering what he could and couldn't get away with. He called it his intelligence. Her mother said it was his money. People were always attracted to money. If Mai had any say, and she often didn't, she would have appointed his many business ventures on curiosity.

What was it that consumed all of his time? She needed to know. He found her fumbling through his things. He threw her out, grumpily. She had spent one month locked in her room except for school time. She thought she had been sneakier. Sly.

He had won.

But this was a different type of curiosity. At fifteen years of age, her mind wondered far away from family affairs. She had debated, several times, about running away. It just seemed right. Logical.

That was it. It seemed logical. To just go and be free. No more questions. No more businessmen staring at her longingly as they waited for her father. She was, without a doubt, beautiful.

One in particular had a son.

He was cute. Not amazingly gorgeous. Not hideous. But cute. A bit taller than her, green eyes, brown hair. He still had baby fat in his cheeks. But he had color in them. He laughed and his face turned pink.

She never liked pink. But she liked pink on him. People didn't laugh in her house. They didn't smile or joke or sing. They just . . . lived.

Many times, business meetings would be held in her house. Well, more accurately, her father's house. She would be shooed away once she was shown off.

"What a beautiful daughter you have."

That was her purpose. To be like a fine painting. She was shown, then stored until the next viewing.

But this time, curiosity had taken over her.

The boy rocked back and forth uncomfortably on his feet. His dad giving him angry glances, ones that said "behave".

She figured the boy would end up taking over his father's business. People did not bring children here unless there was a specific reason. It was all boring to her. When the man entered her father's office, a room with such space, and enough books that she lost count, she decided to solve her curiosity.

She had grabbed the boy's hand, a not so gentle tug, and lead him outside, past the sidewalk, toward another building. It was smaller than her house, but still grand in comparison to others. He followed her down the stone sidewalk into the small gap between the building and her house. The roof from the small building sheltered them from the rain, she disapproved of this, but knew she had to make do.

The boy hadn't spoken, but looked like he had wanted too. She did not approve of that plan. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself against the brick. It poked her in unusual places on her back, and she was sure she'd have a mark in the morning.

Her lips touched his, and even though she didn't knew was she was doing, he appeared to have some idea.

His arms pulled toward her waist, his lips moving against hers.

It was, for a lack of a better term, awkward.

He bit her lip overeagerly twice. His tongue touched her lips.

She wasn't excited.

She was curious.

She didn't stop him. She just let his hands fumble up and down her, groping and rubbing and attempting to be rough. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. He didn't object.

When she needed to breath, she pushed him away, frowning. She then straightened her blouse. Her steps were light on the stone pathway. The boy stood in the rain, confused, and probably slightly irritated.

She was fine without a name. Knowing that she would be "that pretty girl that made out with me once" was fine for her.

As far as first kisses go, it lacked all aspects of romance. She preferred it that way. She was curious about the contact, not the emotions. If her family taught her anything, it was that emotions were wasted. Pointless.

But curiosity was important.


End file.
